


So Long and Good Night

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar Owner Hux, Bartender Ben Solo, Boss/Employee Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, Kissing, Kylux Titleception, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Ben Solo/Thomas McGregor, Phasma Ships It, Texting, a teensy bit of angst, five times fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-25 23:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: AKA:The five times Hux said "no" and the one time he didn't.[excerpt]:“Actually, I agree,” Ben says softly, his face determined. “I worked my ass off to make that mulled wine. If I'm winning something, I deserve something better.”If possible, Hux’s scowl deepens. “What do you consider ‘better?’”“This.” Ben leans over the bar, his huge hand cupping Hux’s chin as he draws him in.





	So Long and Good Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyluxtrashcompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyluxtrashcompactor/gifts).



> I love the idea of this fest and **"So Long and Good Night"** was probably my favorite title out of all the ones I had been given. I had actually started writing something completely different (a _camboy AU,_ HA!!!) but suddenly felt the need to write something sweet. I couldn't stay away from the angst completely, but this is my attempt at fluff, at giving them a hopeful and happy ending.
> 
> This year's been strange for me, fandom-wise. I bounced around between ships, got burned out and lost my muse. Ended up with way more WIPs and half-baked outlines than completed works. I also feel a weird mix of excitement, nervousness, and sadness about what will happen in Episode IX. But no matter what, the creativity of the Kylux community has never failed to inspire me.
> 
> Jules, this is for you. You welcomed me onto this amazing ship, held my hand and cheered me on, both in fanspace and in RL. I still hope to write those things I've promised for years, but in case my fickle muse gets the better of me, I wanted to thank you with this <33
> 
> *Un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own.  
> **I'm posting this with literally one minute to spare before the fest closes. Be gentle ...

* * *

 

**June 2019**

“So...you wanna come over? There's killer food and a great view.”

It’s been nearly a year that they’ve been playing the same game, reciting the same lines. In fact, it’s become so routine that Hux can predict the very moment when Ben’s shoulders begin to droop. Not in disappointment, since he’s heard the same answer for months on end, but through force of habit. As if his body is moving a split second ahead of his mind. Of the words that exit Hux’s mouth.

For the first time, however, Hux’s hesitation manifests into something tangible. It’s a second longer than normal, an extra beat that causes the world around them to grind to a halt.

Hux stares at the water ring that darkens his desktop. “Okay,” he breathes, finally looking up. The single word is spoken with a whiff of indecision, followed by a series of ellipses rather than a period. But it’s out there.

He realizes he doesn’t want to take it back.

Ben's eyes widen, the strong lines of his body resisting the change in direction as his exit is halted.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Ben’s grin is blinding. “Awesome,” he says, and Hux doesn’t know whether it’s Ben’s smile, his response, or the anticipation that something’s _finally_ going to happen that sets his heart alight. It’s strange but welcome, a rapid staccato of hope against his ribs.

**  
**

**August 2018**

“Let me get this straight. You just graduated college—”

“Yup.”

“And you’re taking a year off. To _take a break.”_ Hux nearly rolls his eyes when the guy nods. Kids nowadays. Granted, he’s probably only five or six years older than this prospective hire, but still.

“Yeah. Gearing up to get my doctoral in Comp Lit after this year.”

Hux chokes on his water. Tiny seltzer bubbles fizzle up his nose, his face reddening.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” When Hux waves his hand around as a sign of _Yes, maybe,_ the kid actually chuckles. “You’d think running a bar like this, you’d hold your drink better.”

Hux scowls as he regains his bearings. “And you’d think someone needing a gap year would be doing something more substantial.”

The kid raises a brow. “Define substantial. ”

“I don’t know. A masters in astrophysics at Berkeley or something.”

“Wow, man. That’s pretty...whew, let’s just say, that’s an interesting perspective you’ve got going on there.”

“How so?”

“What I’m doing isn’t _unsubstantial,_ not by any means. I spent the past four years buried in all sorts of genres and debating literary theory and criticism. I spent more time familiarizing myself with the rare section of the library than the student body at keggers.”

Hux peers at the kid over his glasses. He has a hard time reconciling the six-foot-four wall of muscle that stands in front of him wearing a quirky smile and a tight tee with some bookish nerd. His eyes dart to the upper right hand corner of the application.

 _Ben Solo._ It’s written in surprisingly elegant script, almost too mundane for the person in front of him.  
  
Hux circles it with his pen. ‘Ben Solo’ is the kind of name that’s appropriate for the everyman protagonist of a story. Or a superhero’s alter ego. Or, perhaps, a middling porn star. It certainly doesn’t befit someone whose outwardly placid surface seems to mask the brilliance of a thousand suns when he cracks a grin, and suddenly, Hux wonders if he’s in danger of being sucked into his orbit.

“So why tend bar?” he asks, shaking off the ridiculous thought.

Ben shrugs. “I like interacting with people. Seeing what they’re like when their guard is down. It’s like witnessing socio-cultural norms and semiosis in action with a front row seat.”

Hux stares. “I won’t pretend to understand half of what you just said. Tell me—without the lit-speak—why you’re interested in the job.”

“I want to take a year off to make sure I’m on the right path.”

“And the path would be...getting your masters in Comparative Literature and consigning yourself to a life in the hallowed halls of academia?”

“Yeah… well that, or maybe try my hand at writing the next great American novel.”

“Not my area of expertise, but I’m pretty sure you don’t need a bartending job or a doctorate to become a writer. The only thing that degree will guarantee you is several hundred thousand dollars of debt.”

A lovely blush colors creeps up Ben’s neck, all the way to the curve of his cheeks. “Well, working odd jobs seems to be a right of passage. As for the doctorate and the gap year…” He heaves a big sigh, his cocksure attitude cracking for the first time that night. “I’m kinda using this time to see if I have the guts to do what I really want.”

Hux is pretty sure that what Ben really wants doesn’t lie in the rare book section of some stuffy university library. The admission and vulnerability tugs at something in his gut, and he makes his decision.

“Twenty dollars an hour, with a trial period of two weeks. You’ll work Wednesdays for happy hour, Fridays for the partiers, and Sunday for the lunch crowd. I’m putting you with Thanisson on the floor; no tips while training. If I take you on full time, you’ll work four days a week including your choice of a weekend night. You’ll work your ass off, but there’s the potential to double or triple your salary in tips.”

Ben's mouth drops.

Hux pins him with his gaze. “You’ve got two minutes to decide before I ask the next person in line to come in.”

Ben lets out a long breath. “No...that’s great. In fact, it’s perfect. So...I’ll start tomorrow, then?”

“Unless you know of a different calendar where Wednesday doesn’t come after Tuesday.” Hux’s face softens at Ben’s stricken look; his sense of humor, on the rare moments where he finds it, is decidedly dry and easily misinterpreted. “Be here at four and we’ll get you set up.”

“I’ll be here. And...thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Hux.”

“‘Hux’ is fine. And you’re welcome.” When Ben doesn’t make a move to leave, Hux arches his brow. “So long, Ben.”

“G’night, Hux,” Ben says. He gives another smile and waves as he leaves, the door snicking shut behind him.

**September 2018**

By the time it hits half past midnight, the bar’s packed with college kids who have excess money and energy to burn while another crowd vies to get in from the outside.

There’s no question that Ben’s been great for business. He adds an energy to Mitaka’s quietude and a weightiness that balances Thanisson’s flirtatious nature. Between them and Phasma’s non-nonsense, acerbic humor (for those who like a bit of pain and punishment with their Peach Blow Fizz), Hux’s bar staff have most of their customer base covered.

Right now, there’s a woman who looks of questionable age pressing her considerable assets between her arms as she leans up against the bar and makes goo-goo eyes at Ben, lashes fluttering.

Hux’s eyes narrow. He’s going to have a word with Gideon to make sure that everyone’s being properly carded.

Not that he blames her. On Fridays, Ben dresses for the part, usually wearing shirts that seem half a size too small, rolled up at the cuffs to show off his impressive arms and thick chest. His full lips melt into a warm grin that causes the girl to titter and her circle of friends to nudge her even closer.

Hux grits his teeth. Any closer, and she’ll be wiping down the bar with her chest.

“A round of Vitamin C’s,” she purrs as she turns (as much as she can) to look at her friends. It appears as if she’s counting; she frowns, shakes her head, and tries again. “Nine.”

“Eight,” her friend corrects, laughing.

“Whatever. Extra one for whoever finishes first.”

Hux doesn’t miss the way Ben hesitates. Or the way he quickly covers it up, pouring out the round of bombs but taking extra care to put just a little less vodka in one and handing it to the tipsy girl.

“For you.” He leans in, and Hux can’t hear what he says next over the noise, but the look of anger and indignation on her face is unmistakable. Ben gestures towards the back, where the bathrooms, small lounge and stage used for things like trivia night, televisions, and a pool table are located. She nods, then whispers something that makes his ears turn pink, unmistakable even from this distance. For some reason, the display causes something to twist uncomfortably in Hux’s gut and he leaves, deciding to check on his inventory.

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time the crowd has cleared, the bar cleaned with all the perishables stored and dispensables refilled, when Hux hears a knock on his office door.

“Hux?” Ben sticks his head in.

“Phasma’s distributing the tips,” Hux says, waving him out.

“I...I know. I got my share.” He gives Hux a tentative smile, so very unlike the easy, affable grin he throws around at the customers as he shuffles his feet. “We did really well tonight.”

“Not hard to do when you’re offering them things off the menu.” At Ben’s confused look, Hux sighs. “This is a place of business, Ben. It’s difficult enough to keep the customers from fucking in the bathrooms, I don’t need my bar staff joining in. Keep your prick in your pants, and save it for after work.”

Ben’s confusion slides into something angry. “What are you talking about? I was behind the bar all night!”

Hux arches his brow. Even though he’s sitting and Ben towers over him when they’re both standing, he manages to look down his nose. “You asked that girl to go into the back with you.” At Ben’s blank look, Hux gives in, mortified that he has to admit to eavesdropping. “The one who ordered the round of bomb shots?”

Something breaks in Ben’s stance, his body loosening as he shakes with laughter. “That’s what you’re riled about? I told her to go to the lounge and take it easy on the drinks. She looked like she was going to give me a hard time, so I tried to soften her up by quoting Shakespeare.”

Hux’s brow disappeared under the fringe of his hair. “Seriously?”

_“O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!"_

“That’s...don’t tell me that worked.”

Ben’s ears turned pink. “Kind of. It did diffuse the tension. Though she offered to put a part of me in her mouth instead.”

“Well, then.” Hux pushes his chair back somewhat roughly, the legs squeaking in protest across the floor. “We’re back to my original point.”

“I didn’t take her up on her offer, Hux.”

Hux falters. “Not to your taste?”

“No. Apparently my tastes run in the direction of grumpy assholes,” Ben mutters.

“You...what?”

Ben sighs. “Look...I’m grateful that you gave me a chance at this job. I like it; I like the people I work with, and I would never disrespect you or your business in that way. Not that you probably care, but I also have more respect for that girl and myself than to accept someone’s offer for a blow job when they’re totally wasted.”

Well, if that doesn’t make Hux feel like a total shit.

He scrubs his face. He’s never been great at small talk and even worse at apologizing, which is probably why he prefers to spend most of his time behind closed doors, allowing people like Ben and Phasma to weave their magic out front. He lets out a long breath.

“You’re right. You’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, and I jumped to conclusions.” Hux looks up, the lower half of his face twisted in what he’s sure is a grimace. “Sorry.”

Maybe Ben suspects, even though he’s worked here for less than a month, just how hard that was for Hux to say because his posture relaxes and his amber eyes go all soft. “It’s okay.”

The seconds tick by, sliding the silence into something awkward. “Um...so was there a reason you stopped by?” Hux finally asks.

“Oh. Right.” Ben pulls something out of the pocket of his jeans, the movement causing the fabric to pull across the bulge in front. Hux manages to tear his eyes away, feeling both lecherous and hypocritical. “I have the notes for Mitaka. He’s opening tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Hux takes the paper from Ben and glances at the notes, written in neat handwriting on ruled paper.

“Anything else I can help you out with before I head out?”

Hux shakes his head. He’s nearly ready to leave himself. “No, thanks. I’ll see you next week.”

“‘Kay. So long, then. Enjoy your weekend.”

Hux doubts that. His weekend will be spent taking stock, ordering new inventory, and trying to fit in a couple of hours of sleep.

“You too. Good night, Ben.”

**November 2018**

“He’s totally going to go for mine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got this one in the bag; trust me, Mitaka.”

“You’re both delusional. Mine’s the winner, hands down.”

Mitaka lets out a long-suffering sigh. “She’s probably right. She wins every year.”

The three of them go quiet as Hux approaches the bar. “What’s going on?” he asks as he surveys the drinks lining the counter. “Working hard?”

“C’mon, Hux.” Phasma points to the three concoctions. “It’s time to choose next month’s special.”

“We haven’t made it through Thanksgiving yet. Not to mention, it’s only 10:30 in the morning,” Hux protests.

“And that’s a problem because…?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Fine. If only to get you off my back.” He stares at the three drinks, one chocolate-colored, one cherry, and one a deep, almost brownish-red. “You know if these are any good, they’re all going on the menu.”

“Yes, but where would be the fun in that?” Phasma asks. “It’s so much better, knowing the stakes.”

“What stakes?” Ben’s forehead is deliciously furrowed. “Bragging rights?”

“Oh, those too,” Mitaka says dismissively. “But it’s what Hux has to give the winner that makes it worthwhile.”

Phasma laughs at Ben’s bemused expression. “It’s nothing like cash, so don’t get your hopes up, Solo. The boss is too cheap for that.”

“Nope; it’s even better. Hux has to kiss the winner.”

Plasma rolls her eyes. “If you can even call it that. It’s the kind of kiss an old auntie would give to her five year old nephew.”

“I hate you all,” Hux declares, his face flaming.

Phasma’s grin is positively devilish. “Well, it’s worth it, just to see you squirm. So come on, already; which one are you going to try first?”

Hux peruses the selections. The one all the way to the left looks like it could give him several cavities even from a distance, and he’s pretty sure it’s Mitaka’s, given the meringue dotted with cute shavings of peppermint and chocolate on top.  His suspicions are confirmed when he picks it up and Mitaka fails to hide his delighted expression.

Although the nutty richness of cognac is sweet, it’s also tempered by something spicy and floral, chased down by the darkness of the chocolate. “Nice,” he says noncommittally, although the effect is lost when he goes in for a second sip and Mitaka’s smile grows wider.

Phasma unscrews the cap off a water bottle and hands it to Hux. “Which one next?”

Hux swirls the water around his mouth to cleanse his palate. He eyes the two remaining drinks—one bright red and unapologetic, the other bold and mysterious. He decides to leave the second for last, anticipating it to be multi-layered. Something to be savored.

“Fuck,” he sputters as soon as he swallows. Someone—Phasma, likely—snickers. It’s delicious, but undeniably potent. There’s no question it would be a hit with the younger crowd.

“I like it. Maybe with half the cranberry Red Bull though.” He raises his hand to hide his smile; Phasma might pride herself on her poker face, but he catches the way her lips draw down at his suggestion.

He moves on to the third. It doesn’t seem as fancy as the others—there’s no foam or candy shavings, or holiday colors or garnishes. Hux raises the cup to his lips, his eyes growing half-lidded as the warm Cabernet fills his mouth, a mix of cloves and honey and cinnamon swirling on his tongue.

It reminds him of fluffy comforters and being wrapped in bed on a cold winter’s day, or curling up on a day off of work with a good book. It tugs at something secure, the joyfulness he used to associate with the holidays, and before he knows it, he’s taken one sip and then another until he’s reached the bottom of the cup.

“Damn,” Phasma mutters as Hux places the glass back on the table with a guilty expression. “That’s a first.”

Mitaka sighs. “Guess we know which one’s making the menu.”

“Actually, all three,” Hux announces as Mitaka’s eyes widen in surprise. “The whiskey and Red Bull is perfect for the night crawlers, the cognac and chocolate great for the post-shopping crowd, and the mulled wine for the diners. Come up with some catchy names and we’ll add them for a limited run on the menu.”

“Who wins, then?” Mitaka asks, brow furrowed. “You still have to choose your favorite.”

“I don’t think there’s any question about that,” Phasma sighs, gesturing towards the one empty cup. “You win, Solo.”

Ben clears his throat as Hux freezes. Phasma's won the challenge ever since they started the silly tradition; he's known her forever, whereas Ben…

“Uh...you don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable, Hux. Healthy and enthusiastic consent and all. Plus, I’d hate to piss off my boss—”

“Stop.” Maybe it’s the three drinks in succession that’s making his head spin and his heart pound in his chest. “I’m a man of my word.” Hux leans in, going on his tiptoes to reach Ben’s cheek. His lips brush faintly over the warm patch of skin before he pulls back, as quickly as it happened.

“Wow. Be still, my heart,” Mitaka snorts.

“Pathetic,” Phasma agrees.

Hux throws them his dirtiest scowl. “Let’s not forget who’s signing your paychecks, here.”

“Actually, I agree,” Ben says softly, his face determined. “I worked my ass off to make that mulled wine. If I'm winning something, I deserve something better.”

If possible, Hux’s scowl deepens. “What do you consider _‘better?’”_

“This.” Ben leans over the bar, his huge hand cupping Hux’s chin as he draws him in.

Ben’s lips are soft and gentle, and Hux nearly moans as the taste of Ben, his spicy and vibrant scent, mixes with the wine. He sways, his hands gripping the edge of the bar as he feels Ben’s lips curl into a gentle smile before he pulls back.

Fuck. It takes a second or two before Hux manages to shake off the dazed feeling.

Phasma lets out a low whistle. “Damn. If I knew the prize was something like that, I would’ve worked even harder.”

“We can do this again soon,” Mitaka points out. “Plenty of holidays coming up: New Year’s; Valentine’s Day; St. Paddy’s….”

“No. Once a year is quite enough.”

“God. I hope that sentiment doesn’t extend to your sex life, Hux.”

Hux rewards Phasma with a hiss before stalking back to his office, his face aflame. It takes a good ten minutes for his embarrassment to die down, but considerably longer for the memory of Ben’s kiss to fade from his lips.

**November 2018 (two weeks later)**

The one good thing about working odd hours is the ability to run errands while the majority of the population is at work. It’s something Hux doesn’t take for granted as he wheels a rolling basket around the local Fairway, intent on grabbing a few essentials as well as some things for Thursday’s dinner. The displays are an odd mix of the holidays, with most of the food choices still catering to last-minute Thanksgiving orders while the decorations lean decidedly towards Christmas.

There’s a long line for the deli so he hooks a sharp right and heads for the cereal aisle instead. He’s in the process of scanning the shelves for his favorite dark chocolate almond granola when his progress is halted by the unyielding weight of a nearly-full cart.

Hux feels his grip tightening around his basket handle as his knee throbs. Seriously, who pushes a cart forward in an occupied aisle on the _left_ side?

“Oh my god, shit, I’m so sorry,” the man begins as Hux looks up, ready to unleash the full force of his patented death-glare on the hapless shopper. “I didn’t mean to...Hux?”

“Ben?” Ben looks less put together than he does at work. Not that he dresses up, per se; his outfits on most nights seem to favor some variation of tight tees and even tighter skinny jeans. But today he’s wearing a loosely-fitting shirt with the words “Today is My Hot Mess Day” underneath a hoodie and an overcoat, his bearded stubble less trimmed than usual. He looks more like a student than ever, and the effect amplifies the difference in their ages and professional status further.

Hux eyes the bursting cart and raises a brow. “I know there’s such a thing as a huge appetite, but that’s a bit overkill, don’t you think?”

Ben bursts out laughing. “Yeah. I’m on Thanksgiving duty this year.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Hux never imagined Ben to be the cooking type.

“I’m actually quite good!” Ben protests, mock-offended. “At least, I haven’t killed anyone yet.”

Hux peers into Ben’s cart, decorum be damned. “It might be easier to just get everything catered.”

Ben waves his hand. “Nah. I like cooking. It’s not like I’m having a ton of people over, anyway. Just my parents and my crazy uncle, and my cousin and her boyfriend.”

“Sounds like fun?”

“Yeah.” A fond look settles on Ben’s face, one that makes Hux’s toes curl. “Actually, it should be. My parents are flying in from LA and Rey and Finn are coming down from Boston. I haven’t seen everyone together like this in a while.”

“Why didn’t you ask for the time off? The post-Thanksgiving weekend isn’t terribly busy. You should spend it with them.”

“Thanisson really wanted the days to visit his girlfriend’s family down in D.C. I think he’s planning to propose...making a big statement, with everyone there.”

Hux hadn’t known. His surprise must show, because Ben hems and haws a bit, then says, “You know, a lot of times we head on over to my place after work just to blow off steam. And by that, I mean watch classic B-movies with cheap and greasy food until the sun comes up. You should come. There’s killer food and a great view.”

“Um, thanks. That sounds great.”

Ben grimaces, and Hux knows that Ben knows he doesn’t mean it. Ben changes the subject quickly by motioning towards Hux’s basket. “Doing a bit of Thanksgiving cooking of your own?”

“What? Um...yes.” Hux looks down at his partially-filled basket, at the hard, squared lines of the ready-in-minutes containers and single-serving meals-to-go. He shrugs, the heat creeping up his neck as he rubs at it unconsciously. “It’s this, or have enough leftovers to last me a month.”

“Want to come over to mine instead? My family’s pretty low key, once you get past their eccentricities, and I promise I’m not that bad of a cook.”

“Eccentricities?”

“They grew up a product of the sixties,” Ben says conspiratorially, as if that explained everything.

The idea is surprisingly tempting. It’s been years since Hux has spent the holidays with family, and the idea of a day with Ben, outside of work, is more appealing that it should be. He wrestles with saying yes, but gives in to his reluctance.

“I couldn’t—”

“You totally could! It wouldn’t be an imposition, unless you count putting up with a million questions from my family. But I’d make it up by plying you with some seriously awesome drinks…bartender, remember?”

“And give up my $8.99 truffle-oil infused mashed potatoes? Not on your life,” Hux scoffs, unable to hide his smile.

“Think about it, anyway. Here…” Ben pulls out his phone and taps out something on the keys before shoving it back in his pocket.

A second letter, Hux’s cell pings.

“That’s my address,” Ben says as Hux stares at his screen. “I know you have it at work, but...I figure it’d be harder for you to lose if you had it on your person. You don’t have to give me an answer now. Think about it; there’s going to be plenty extra, and I’d love for you to be there.”

Hux blinks. “Thanks.” He stares at the screen, then Ben, dumbly; it’s easy at work to brush things off, but here, out of his element and taken by surprise, he’s at a loss for how to respond, even though there’s a part of him that’s incredibly touched.

Ben rocks forward on his feet. “I guess I should be going,” he says sheepishly, his large hands reaching for the handle of his cart. “Hope you can come, but if you can’t, I’ll see you Friday.”

Hux waves goodbye then continues down the aisle. After he finds his cereal he turns around, heading back to the deli counter. There’s still a queue, so he spends some time perusing the offerings in the bakery display while he waits.

“Oh my god, they still have cheesecake left,” the woman next to Hux moans, her face practically orgasmic.

“That popular?” Hux asks, arching his brow.

“That fabulous! You’ve never had?” When Hux shakes his head, she nudges him forward. “They bake them on premise. If you like cheesecake, you _have_ to try one. Go ahead; I’ll save your place on line.”

Her excitement was infectious. Hux ends up buying a single plain slice, as well as a whole cake that’s covered with fresh berries. He perks up when he’s asked:

“Sir? For delivery or to go?”

*****

The next day, as he’s eating his side of truffle oil-infused mash potatoes and free range turkey and mushroom gravy at the comfort of his kitchen table, he gets a text:

**_> >I’m sorry you couldn’t make it, but this is the next best thing_ **

Hux picks up his phone and types:

**_>???_ **

**_> >The cheesecake! It’s AWESOME_ **

Hux smiles upon seeing the string of emojis.

**_> I have no idea what you’re talking about_ **

**_> >Sure you don’t. But OK. thanks for whatever it is you know nothing about. It was a huge hit_ **

**_> See you tomorrow, Ben_ **

**_> >Idk. I had 3 pieces. Might not be able to get up from this chair_ **

Hux hopes the force of his eye roll carries over into his text.

**_> Don’t use up your PTO over cake. It's not worth it_ **

**_> >K. See you tomorrow then. I think_ **

**_> Don’t think. Do_ **

**_> >You sound like a Nike ad. _ ** **_Je pense_** **,** **_donc je suis_ **

This time, Hux actually adds the eye roll emoji to his text.

**_> good night Ben_ **

He places his phone back down on the table and goes back to tackling his mashed potatoes. Even though they’re cold, somehow, they taste even better.

 

**New Year’s Eve 2018/New Year’s Day 2019**

New Year’s Eve always brings out an interesting mix. Even though colleges are still on break, the idea of being in the city for the ball drop (although, to be fair, being in a totally different neighborhood while watching the drop on a plasma screen kind of defeats the purpose) means there’s a large number of barely twenty-one year olds filling the bar in addition to the neighborhood regulars. There’s a conspicuous number of glittery outfits and beaded necklaces and noisemakers floating around as the patrons try to curry favor with the staff by offering blow and X and anything in between, and Hux has every available employee on the floors while keeping an eagle eye for potentially disruptive behavior himself.

“Hey, Hux!” Ben waves from where he’s punching information into his iPad. He’s dressed in the dress shirt and waistcoat he usually wears for the business crowd, but the effect is tempered by the multiple strands of jewel-colored beads that several women—and men—have draped around his neck, not to mention the button that’s undone at top, showcasing his surprisingly long throat and manscaped chest.

“Make sure they tip you in more than just beads,” Hux chides. He can’t hide his grin, though. Fuck, he must be getting soft, no longer immune to the giddiness of the holiday.

Ben arches a brow in a passable imitation of Hux’s patented move. “I’m open to any other suggestions.”

His amber eyes grow dark and half-lidded, and Hux’s breath catches in his throat. This...whatever this is that’s been building between them for the last several months...it’s scary and exhilarating, but worse, unsustainable. Ben’s leaving for his grad program in half a year, and Hux will be out a stellar bartender as well as—

“C’mon, Hux!” Phasma pulls him behind the bar where Mitaka and Ben are also gathered. She grabs a party hat from the box of leftovers and wraps the elastic thread under his chin. It slides to the left, hanging off his head at a ridiculous angle. “It’s almost midnight!”

Hux’s mood sours further when he sees a guy who looks like an aspiring actor or model (or, more likely, an actor-model) move into his line of sight. The interloper tucks a finger into one of Ben’s necklaces, rubbing the strand suggestively along his thumb as he pulls Ben closer.

Hux isn’t naive. He knows that bartenders get hit on all the time, and given the size of the crowd and the way the liquor is flowing and how attractive his employees are, he can’t imagine that _none_ of them have taken a customer up on their offer. And there’s no mistaking the twink’s intent as he sucks on his straw, his eyes roaming over Ben’s figure heatedly.

“Solo! Get that attractive ass over here! I need your POS,” Phasma shouts.

Hux manages to catch Ben’s relieved smile as he slips out from failed actor-model’s grasp and heads to the end of the bar with the rest of the group. Phasma swipes the iPad from him while giving him a knowing look, then hollers as all the screens in the bar switch on to the same channel in time for the countdown.

By this point, most everyone is either paired off or embracing in some sort of communal group hug. The noisemakers are going off like crazy, and shit, the glitter and tinsel sticking to every conceivable surface is going to be a bitch to clean later this morning. When the countdown reaches twenty seconds, Hux notices that Mitaka is eyeing him nervously.

Normally, Hux chooses to spend the last seconds of the year welcoming in the new one with an Old Fashioned (yes, the irony is not lost on him), enjoying the way the bitters and sugar water soothe the burn. Here, pressed up against the crowd, not wanting to be alone yet growing anxious at the prospect of kissing someone in celebration, he feels his resolve not to flee crumbling.

A large hand wraps around his waist, the pressure grounding him. He reminds himself that it’s only the tradition of the holiday and nothing else as he refrains from leaning further into Ben, the voices around him screaming _Twelve seconds, eleven, ten…_ It’s happening too quickly, yet paradoxically, the time seems to yawn between each passing second. His heart speeds and his face flushes as the bar chants in unison:

_“Two! One! Happy New Year!”_

The noisemakers toot, bottles clink, and Phasma whoops as she pulls Mitaka to her, bussing him on the cheek. Ben turns towards Hux, their hips abutting as he tilts his head, warm eyes waiting in question.

Hux gives him the smallest of nods before Ben swoops in. His lips are soft and gentle, the pressure on Hux’s mouth so perfect that Hux literally _yields,_ his eyes fluttering shut as he opens up to Ben’s touch and a soft moan escapes his throat. He feels Ben’s breath stutter in response, the heat of it hot and filled with promise as he slows down their kiss. It’s not sinful but not quite chaste, a taste of desire without the hint of tongue.

When Ben pulls back, the loss of his presence almost has Hux reaching for him with an embarrassing need. It takes several seconds for the world to come crashing back—for the sounds of the booming bass in the background to vibrate through Hux’s feet, for Phasma’s curious stare to be seen, and the slurred request of a customer ordering a drink to worm its way into Hux’s consciousness.

“Hux…” Ben runs his hand through his hair. The thick, glossy strands stick up haphazardly, his own expression similarly stunned. “Hold on. Let me get these orders—”

 _Fuck._ There’s no excuse for what just happened. Hux can’t believe how far he’s allowed things to progress—not only at his place of business, but with regards to his _feelings._

“No. Fun’s over. There’s a line of people waiting to celebrate, and your shift doesn’t end for three hours.” He grabs the bottle of Hudson Baby Bourbon along with a tumbler and heads towards his office, intent on shutting out the merriment behind him and the memory of Ben’s hurt expression as he closes the door with a slam.

**April 2019**

“Scotch, neat.”

“No way. It’s definitely going to be some local craft beer. My money’s on a Belgian triple.”

“The guy’s clearly out with his boss. He’s going to want to make a good impression.”

“Just like I did with you?” Ben gives Hux a hesitant smile, then nudges Hux’s shoulder. For the first time since that disastrous kiss on New Year’s Eve, Hux doesn’t flinch.

What he does do is allow Ben’s warmth to seep through his shirt, his arm reveling from the pressure until it’s too much. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Hux scoffs, his face reddening as he straightens. “I’m still waiting for you to make one.”

“Hmmm.” The noise Ben makes seems casual, but the tension in how he holds himself remains. They watch as the waitress takes the men’s orders and saunters up to the bar.

“One whiskey on the rocks and a scotch neat,” she says as Hux does a small celebratory fist pump under the counter.

“Damn. Thought I had him pegged,” Ben laughs as he sets about pouring the drinks. “I always hope that one day, someone will surprise me. Thomas says...”

Ben continues as Hux schools his features into a carefully neutral expression. It’s a reflex, one that occurs whenever Ben’s maybe-not-just-a-fling, could-be-a-boyfriend comes up. The guy’s got a fancy accent and a stick up his ass so long he makes Hux look like a contortionist. Thomas might be attractive in a delicate sort of way, but other than that, Hux has no idea what Ben sees in him.

Finally, Ben slides the drinks to the edge of the counter. “There you go, Kate. Classic business fare, just like the 90s.”

Hux watches as Kate heads back to the table. “She’s going to come back with an order for the Wagyu Ribeye and a cheeseburger, medium rare. And here’s when the kid will wish he ordered that IPA instead.”

“I think you’re right. Though I’m going rare for the ribeye. A one-upmanship in ‘manly’ behavior,” Ben concedes, the corners of his lips twitching.

When Kate places an order for the ribeye and a burger, it’s all Hux can do to contain his glee.

Ben gives him an exasperated glare. “You sit in an office all day with your invoices and receipts for company. How did you get so good at reading people?”

Hux purses his lips as he thinks about his answer. “I think it just happened…”

Ben waits patiently. It’s probably one of the reasons why he makes such a great bartender; he can flirt and joke with the best of them, but he also knows when it’s important to listen. “I was an army brat,” Hux explains. “My dad was stationed in Arizona and Texas. After my parents got divorced, we moved around more often. Germany. Hawaii…”

“So you’ve met a lot of people, then.”

“It’s not the same thing as making friends.”

Ben’s eyes widen in surprise. “The world’s not as big a place as it used to be. There’s plenty of ways to stay in touch—texting and Insta and Snapchat…”

Hux’s face twists into something that he’s sure is painfully unattractive. “I’m twenty-eight. Things like Instagram didn’t exist while I was growing up. I became fairly good at reading people. Mostly who I could trust, who could help me get where I needed. I didn’t seek out friendships, specifically.” He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “I didn’t see the need to put down roots. I tried before, when I was younger. But every time I did, nothing took.”

“Oh.” Ben takes a rag and wipes down the counter. It’s quiet for this time of day, most of the lunch crowd having already left. “It’s never too late to try again, though. Having an anchor—feeling _rooted,_ can be a great thing. Otherwise, you’re like one of those hanging plants, attached to nothing.”

“First, Hemingway, that metaphor is so cliche. Second, aerial plants _do_ have roots; they just grow above ground. What you’re thinking of are bryophytes. Things like moss.”

Ben stares, then throws his head back in a gusty laugh. It’s loud enough that it echoes throughout the fairly empty bar, causing the few patrons who remain to look up. “Figures that’s what you would focus on. Okay, Darwin, you win. Still, there’s got to be something better than being... _moss.”_

“Linnaeus, not Darwin.” Hux frowns. “And I _have_ an anchor.” At Ben’s quizzical look, he gestures around them. “The bar.”

“Is the bar your anchor or just a buoy?”

“What?”

“Is it something that grounds you, or just allows you to stay afloat?”

Hux feels his temper rise. This is the longest conversation that they’ve had in _months,_ he’s shared a part of him that leaves him more vulnerable than he’d like to admit, and he’s had to hear about _Thomas_ to boot. “I don’t know, is it? Why don’t you tell me, seeing as you’re going for your doctorate?”

When Ben looks at him with a confused expression, a Hux continues, waving his hand impatiently. “You know...the thing you’re going for instead of using that time to write the next great American novel?”

“That…” Ben deflates. “I guess it’s a bit of the same thing.”

Hux crosses his arms. Strangely, the concession doesn’t make him feel in the least bit triumphant as he takes in Ben’s expression. “Sorry. That was...completely uncalled for.”

“You’re right, though.”

“About?”

“About it being uncalled for. As well as my using the degree as a buoy.” Ben lets out a huff of air, causing the fringe on his forehead to flop. “Maybe I am settling. Or putting things off...I mean, I can still write my opus magnum if I get my degree, right? But if I try and fail—”

“You can still get your degree,” Hux says gently. “If that’s what you _truly_ want. Or you can keep plugging away at writing.” There’s an urgency to his next words, and for some reason, he’s desperate for Ben to know that they’re true. “I’ve watched you closely over the last seven months. People love you. It’s not only because you never forget their face or their favorite order, or because you mix drinks with a flair. You know when to listen. You have incredible stories to tell. You have the ability to get people to open up and take a look at themselves.” Hux narrows his eyes in mock annoyance. “Even if you have to use trite metaphors to achieve your nefarious purpose.”

Ben shrugs as his lips spread in a sheepish grin, but he doesn’t deny it.

“It’s not bad advice,” Hux says slowly.

“Come out with us, Hux. Not as our boss, but as a friend. You know...spread those roots?”

Roots, wings. Hux gives Ben a faint smile. “We’ll see.”

“Well, I’m going to ask you every day I work. And maybe even on my off days, in between.”

Hux’s eyes narrow. “In that case, I reserve the right to badger you about the status of your novel.”

“Deal.” He gives Hux a warm smile, and something blooms inside Hux, something hopeful.

Of course, that’s the moment everything falls apart, because the front door opens, flooding the intimate interior with sunshine from the street.

“Ben!” The man—Thomas—bursts in, his blue eyes flashing excitedly as he waves around the envelope he’s clutching in his hand. “Look what came in the mail!”

Ben looks nearly as annoyed by the interruption as Hux. “I thought you left when I did.”

“Your place is so much closer to work, though; I hope you don’t mind! But it’s a good thing I did, because I think this is the one you’ve been waiting for!”

Hux catches a glimpse of the envelope—the ivory vellum, and the collegiate seal that decorates the left hand corner. He clears his throat.

“No personal business in front of the customers. You may use my office if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Hux.” Ben throws him a grateful look before heading towards the back, a smug-looking Thomas in tow.

Hux grits his teeth. Seriously, he has no idea what Ben sees in that man. He’s caught between contemplating that mystery and wondering about the outcome of Ben’s correspondence when his question is answered a minute later.

“He got in!” Thomas crows. He pulls an embarrassed Ben out of Hux’s office as the bar cheers and Thomas sweeps him up into a congratulatory hug.

 

**June 2019**

“So...you wanna come over? I’ve got killer food and a great view.”

“Okay.”

Ben’s eyes widen as his lips part is disbelief. “Okay?”

Hux nods. “Yeah.” He doesn’t miss how Ben’s look of surprise slides into a huge grin, or how his own heart speeds in response.

“Awesome.” Ben slings his bag further up his shoulder, his thumb hooking over the strap as he seems to weigh his words. “Phasma’s can’t join us; she’s got a big audition and needs the rest. Thanisson’s going to be without a fiancée if he's not home. So it’s just the two of us. If that’s all right with you.”

“More than.” Hux stares at Ben brazenly, causing a strangled sound to escape from the back of Ben’s throat.

“I’m just eight blocks down, if you want to walk?”

It’s a beautiful night and the streets are surprisingly quiet, especially once they turn off Lexington and on to a side street. The lights from the streetlamps cast the sidewalks in a greyish-purple hue, and it feels dreamlike and ephemeral. Despite Hux’s tendency to overthink things, he manages most of the journey in a companionable silence, content to listen to the occasional rumbling of a passing car and the click of their shoes against the pavement.

“This is me.” Ben points to a pre-War brownstone on their right as he digs around for his keys.

Hux is surprised. He would have expected something larger or more modern, like a loft or one of those apartment complexes bought and renovated by enthusiastic developers during the city’s real estate boom. Instead, the lock to the building requires a jiggling of the key, and when Ben opens the door to his apartment and flicks on the lights, it’s not the cold fluorescence of hi-hats but the warmth of incandescent bulbs that greets them.

Ben throws his bag onto the console table. “So this is it,” he says with a dramatic wave of his hand. “My humble abode.” There's a pair of sliding doors is visible towards the back, their modern lines making them stand out in the space.

“Is that a terrace?” Hux asks.

“Yeah. It was one of the reasons I got this place.” Ben flips on another switch; the trees marking the corners of the patio become illuminated by fairy lights. As Hux moves closer, he can also make out the shapes of a small table and chairs. “This is where we have breakfast, weather-permitting. High-caloric food and a beautiful sunrise. No better way to start off the morning.”

Hux comes over to Ben’s side as they both stare out into the garden. “I’m sure it’s a great place to write.”

Ben’s look grows hooded. “Yup. That too.”

“And...Thomas enjoys it as well?”

Ben startles, then lets out a soft laugh. “Not any more. We broke up over two months ago.”

Hux can’t help his grin, or the purr that follows. “In that case, it’s _perfect.”_ He turns, his hand clasping the placket of Ben’s shirt as he pulls him close.

“Putting down roots, Mr. Hux?” Ben asks, a catch in his throat.

“Reaching out, Mr. Solo. It’s a start.” Hux shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet and leans in. Ben smells delicious, the lingering, spicy notes of his soap causing something warm to pool in Hux’s gut as he brushes his lips along the curve of Ben’s neck and then his chin.

“Me too,” Ben murmurs. “I deferred my acceptance to the doctoral program, by the way. Been using my time off to write my book.”

Hux stops for a moment to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Ben’s ear. “I’m happy for you,” he says softly.

“Hux." Ben bares his neck, groaning as Hux nibbles a line up to his ear, then angles his head lower to meet him. His hands roam over Hux’s back, their hips and thighs slotting perfectly together, and being this close with only their jeans between them, there’s no mistaking Ben’s growing arousal.

“Oh my god,” Hux breathes. It’s been so long since he’s been with someone, and the friction from his jeans and the thick and rigid length of Ben’s cock threatens to make him unravel.

“Please…” he stutters, his words caught in an incoherent and desperate jumble. He wants to crawl all over Ben, to shamelessly rut against him. “Please, god, please…”

Ben hauls him up, and fuck, he’s every bit as strong as those ridiculous biceps and chest promise. His eyes are dark, his normally sweet gaze predatory as he licks his lips.

“Please, what?” he asks as he takes Hux’s lower lip between his teeth. Hux feels the mild sting, the slight swell of the delicate flesh that builds until Ben eventually releases it and soothes it with his tongue. “Tell me what you want.” He untangles Hux’s legs from around his waist and lays Hux down on the couch. “I want you so bad, but I can wait if you’re not ready.”

Hux brings a hand up to Ben’s cheek. “I want anything and everything.”

“That encompasses a lot,” Ben teases. He leans in to undo the buttons on Hux’s shirt. “Can I start by blowing you?”

Hux nods; the back of Ben’s knuckles brush against Hux’s bared skin, the roughness of his skin causing Hux to shiver.

“Thank god. You’re so fucking gorgeous; I’ve been dreaming of your taste forever,” Ben whispers. He takes a nipple in his mouth. Hux’s eyes practically roll back in his head as he feels it pebble against the flat of Ben’s tongue, gooseflesh prickling his skin.

“Ben,” he groans, his fingers threading through Ben’s hair. Ben sucks harder, the wetness of his mouth making Hux hiss in pleasure. His hand hovers over the waistband of Hux’s jeans, his eyes lifting in question.

Hux shudders as Ben runs his hand over Hux’s aching erection. “Oh my god, do it already or so help me, I’m placing you on weekdays for the entire month.”

“Hmmm. I like the idea of my nights free, though.” Ben smirks as he lowers Hux’s fly and peels off his jeans in one smooth movement.

They both work to rid him of his underwear. Hux sighs as his dick springs free, but even then, he can't help grousing. “Had a lot of practice, have you?”

Ben strokes Hux’s cock, his fingers swiping lightly across the tip. “Not as much as I’d like. Unfortunately, I've grown quite attached to my incredibly gorgeous, but exceedingly grumpy boss.”

“Keep talking, and you’ll see just how grumpy I can be... _nggggh,”_ Hux shouts as Ben takes him into his mouth.

The angle’s not ideal, but Hux can tell just how much giving head turns Ben on. He moans as he sucks, lips curling over his teeth and cheeks hollowing as he swallows Hux down to the root. The hand that grips the base of his cock changes angles, sliding down the underside of Hux’s balls until a finger nestles perfectly between the cleft of his buttocks.

“Ben...I can’t hold on; I'm going to come,” Hux gasps. It’s too much, with the suction of Ben’s lips, the sensation of his finger pressing against Hux’s rim, and the obscene noises that come from them both.

Ben lifts his head. His lashes are wet, his lips slick-wet and red.

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you,” he rasps. He quickly replaces his mouth, doubling down on his efforts as his finger breaches Hux’s rim.

They call it _petite mort,_ but this feels more like _grande vie_ than anything else. Hux feels his release build from the base of his spine, its white heat gathering along the top of his thighs and the length of his cock, back arching, stomach muscles clenching, and toes curling until he comes with a shout. Once he starts, he can’t stop; the hot ropes of spunk pulse continuously into Ben’s mouth as his mind blanks and emotions grow overwhelmed. Hux reaches out, in a free fall until his hands find an anchor in Ben’s broad shoulders.

"You’re perfect," Ben says once he finishes, sounding awestruck.

When Hux finally opens his eyes, he’s drawn inexorably to Ben’s radiant smile, like a tall oak reaching for the sun.

*

Hux pulls the terry cloth robe around him as he listens to the awakening city from the comfort of Ben’s patio, reveling in the first rays of the morning light.

He shifts slightly, his ass sore. They had savored each other’s body twice more last night, their hands and mouths engaged in endless exploration before Ben finally took him over the edge of bed and they collapsed, succumbing to exhaustion.

He hums and takes a sip of his coffee. It's perfect—the taste deeper and richer than he’s ever remembered.

There's a soft slide of the doors. Hux tips his head back, basking in the June air.

“Good morning.” Ben presses a kiss to Hux's forehead, then sits and sets his Macbook on the table. He gives Hux's hand a gentle squeeze as he powers up the laptop, the machine whirring as its screen comes to life.

"Morning." Hux turns and kisses Ben. "Mmmm. You taste amazing."

He tastes of coffee and home and promise.

**~Fin~**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Come say "hi" on Tumblr: [nerdherderette](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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